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ANTHEMS OF BROTHERHOOD: BALLAD FROM BRETHREN


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ANTHEMS OF BROTHERHOOD:

BALLAD FROM BRETHREN

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By

Borris Iver Kortrevich, KML

ON THIS 8TH OF VYZMEY AG HYFF, 463 E.S.

 


 

The Bannerman

 

An arm of courage, a quivering heart,

A steadfast stance, a banner unfurled;

The one who holds the standard bravely,

Though fear may creep, no fear will come to pass.

 

In the midst of tumult and tumultous cries,

The one who holds the banner high,

Their courage undiminished, no matter the cost,

Their banner waves, a symbol of hope and pride.

 

The one who holds the banner steadfast and true,

Their spirit never broken, no matter the odds,

For they shall stand, unyielding and proud,

Shielding their kin, 'till the very last breath.

 

So let us raise a cheer for the one who holds the banner,

For their courage and bravery, no greater tale can be told,

For one who fights for what they hold dear,

Tis their courage that keeps the banner aloft.

 


 

The Auxilary

 

The Auxilary, with an implacable mien, 

Their courage and strength, an unyielding sheen, 

From their ranks arose an intangible sense,

Of cohesiveness and an indomitable defense. 

 

In moments of reverie, their will is tested, 

To fight and protect, so their enemies are bested, 

Their unflappable valor, so resolute and true, 

For nation and country, they will fight, through and through.

 

The Auxilary, with their hearts, minds and souls, 

Their duty and honor, never to be consoled, 

For those who need it, they'll give their all, 

To ensure safety and security, for one and for all. 

 

Their steadfast resolve and their unbreakable bond, 

Will never waiver, for their commitment is beyond, 

With strength and courage, they may face the unknown, 

But in the end, their honor and pride will be shown.

 


 

The Dummer

 

The Drummer beats his drum,

A rhythmic symphony of sound,

The thunderous pulse reverberates,

As the bracing din surrounds.

 

The masses raise their voices loud,

To rally to his beckon call,

Their march to combat is emboldened,

As the thudding echoes through the hall.

 

His beat is like a hammer strike,

Urging on the stalwart troops,

His pounding drives them onward,

His rhythm fueling their resolve.

 

The clashing of the swords,

The clash of steel against steel,

The clang of armour, the roar of battle,

Is all driven by the drum's appeal.

 

The bass drums are a battle cry,

A rousing anthem of warfare,

The din of drums goads them on,

To fight a hostile foe with flair.

 

The thunderous beat of the drum,

Is a symphony of warfare,

The battle drummer shouts his song,

To lead the masses to their final war.

 


 

The Blacksmith

 

The Blacksmith, a master of his art,

Forging molten steel with iron heart.

The sparks that fly, the cries that roar,

Making the beats of metal an elegant choir.

 

The anvil clangs, the forge is hot,

The smithy's hands move swift and swift.

The glowing embers, the ringing bell,

Resound in rhythm, his music swell.

 

His art, his passion, his labors well,

Tireless and true, through thick and thin.

His hammer strikes, his temperance strong,

The heated metal, he shapes so long.

 

A craftsman's skill, an artisan's eye,

His works of beauty, set high in sky.

From sword and shield, to horseshoe and nail,

The blacksmith his toil does not fail.

 


 

The Quartermaster

 

Meticulous, precise, and in charge,

The Quartermaster stands, bold and large.

He surveys the armory, with a keen eye

And dispenses arms to all who pass by.

 

His inventory is vast and grand

Each weapon polished, ready to hand.

He maintains the arsenal, so that none lack

A way to protect and to fight back.

 

The Quartermaster is the leader of the guard,

For his wisdom and skill, he is highly regarded.

He is the one upon whom all soldiers depend

To provide them with arms, and the courage to defend.

 

His knowledge and skill, his expertise,

Are an invaluable asset to the military.

He ensures that all are equipped, and never left behind

His duty is fulfilled, and his mission aligned.

 


 

The Nurse

 

The Nurse, a stalwart angel of mercy,

Ensconced in a cape of altruistic benevolence,

Devoted to the care of the ailing and infirm,

Is a paragon of meticulous diligence.

 

Her gaze is a beacon of succor and solace,

Her hands are a balm to the broken and weak,

Her voice is a gentle hymn of sustenance,

For the comforted and comfortless alike.

 

Her efforts are a tribute to fortitude,

Her cause is a monument to altruistic grace,

Her ministrations are a testament to empathy,

For the destitute and destitution-stricken.

 

The Nurse is a phoenix of unconquerable grace,

An emblem of strength amid a storm of distress,

A wellspring of mercy for the ailing and forlorn,

Whose balm of compassion never knows reprieve.

 


 

The Chaplain

 

This man of faith did stand with solemn grace,

Ceremoniously offering counsel and embrace,

As he stood and stared with a quiet peace,

Succouring souls in affliction to release.

 

He pondered depths of a complex hue,

Illumined by the serenity that shone through, 

Invoking fears and passions again,

As sheltering arms did reach around lend.

 

The chaplain's sacred strength profane,

At the heart of darkness comfort did reign,

Risking and sacrificing for the fallen to be saved,

Til bloody wars no more are engraved. 

 

A man’'s treasured adages affirmed,

Ameliorating anguish and anguish unconfirmed,  

Heralding redemption from a hellish mire,

Unraveling pains of the soul in despair.

 


 

The Minstrel

 

The star-crossed field of battle lies before,

Where steel doth clash in hope of victory's store,

And amidst the din and clang and cry of war,

The minstrel's song conjures a heartfelt roar.

 

The rattling anvil of his quill strikes the night,

As swords collide and spears pierce with their might,

His words come swift, his speech is out of sight,

Crafting tales of courage, a compelling sight.

 

He sings of fate's ill-fated wheel that turns,

Of duty and honour so detested in spurn,

His melodies enthrall, enrapture, and charm,

Riveting to their core the serried throng's calms.

 

He summons strength and courage in those who lament,

In a foe's terror, a friend's zeal, his words are fervent,

The clamour of steel, the beating of drums,

Aroused to battle by the battle minstrel's hums.

 

Aye, his song is an invocation of grandeur and stone,

Resolver of woes, a bridge 'twixt fate and known,

A most miraculous power forms its timeless rhyme,

The sweetest of tunes from the battle minstrel's clime.

 


 

The Alchemist

 

Figurative flames, an alchemy sublime

Enchanting secrets and mysteries of time

With infinite tomes unlocking one’s fate

Unveiling truth amid the indefinable great

 

Uncorked esoteric elixirs of life

Ebbing free energy at the edge of the knife

Promethean sanctuaries set forth with a spark

The lost soul’s dreams stir within the dark

 

Unconventional methods casting out a new light

Mysticism and alchemy come into sight

A trail of stardust guides our way

Unveiling the real world from mere dismay

 

Twinkling lamp from which wisdom seals

A brand of profundity that never reveals

Miraculous formulae to be reaped and sown

As the alchemist’s path to greatness is shown.

 


 

The Mage

 

Awe-inspiring, enraptured in thought;

A wise, time-honoured mage, 

Naught could have ever tore her from her fervent trance.

 

Thoughts arcane, arcane enchanted;

Bedecked in mystical regalia, an august vision she was, 

Far e'er in the antiquity of the distant past;

 

Time-worn and Grecian poise;

Divinest, surreal craft unleashed and unbridled, 

She was, truly the apex of the ancient's art;

 

Divining, magix divine;

Insinuating the unfathomable, of the cosmic and the aeonic, 

The secrets of the source per chance.

 

Etheral, trails of light;

The mysteries of the nomic quivered, beneath the bravura of her power, 

The secrets of the spheres, and the sorceries of the night.

 

Mystification e'er supreme;

A devoted journey of prescience, in intellectual opulence, 

Imbued with the spirit of unbound exploration, awe-inspiring, e'er serene.

 


SIGNED,

HIS LORDSHIP, Borris Iver Kortrevich, KML

Battle-Bard of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, Knight-Bard of the Order of the Crow, and Court-Poet of Hanseti-Ruska.

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